


The Bowl Odyssey

by robodork



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Dragons, Gods, How Do I Tag, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, so many dragons, uhhhh, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robodork/pseuds/robodork
Summary: A dive into my own D&D universe that will otherwise never see the light of day. Cast of characters are entirely mine, as is the geography and lore, mostly. D&D itself however is not (obviously).





	The Bowl Odyssey

_ Gideon _

He dreams every night. Sometimes the dreams are about two little girls, human, left in an alleyway, except one of the girls is not a girl though he doesn’t know it yet and one of them won’t make it a week. The little not-girl is to be named Gideon. He’ll have adopted his name from an old violin maker with kind eyes and worn hands. The other sequence of dreams follows that particular Gideon. What happens is a bit different each time, but the result of the events is always the same -- Gideon is gone. Sometimes he is swallowed by a shadowy mass, other times dragged off by strange hooded figures, and once or twice, he just gets up and leaves. All are equally terrifying concepts to this younger Gideon. He wakes up most mornings breathless, filthy, and sore, usually sleeping in dark alleyways. The routine each morning is the same. He makes sure no one has taken the violin that had been handcrafted just for him, checks his pockets to make sure that whatever he has stolen (or earned) the day before isn’t missing, and then either stays in town for a performance or moves onto the next in hopes of more money. And this current town is paying quite well.

Gideon yawns and stretches as luxuriantly as one in poverty can and goes to blow everything in his pockets on his first breakfast in a week. He plops himself down at the bar and slides a few silver pieces towards the maid currently behind the counter. “What will this get me?” He asks.

“Well, not much. Piece of bread?” The barmaid responds.

“I’ll pay for that with these. And I’ll exchange a performance for two glasses of milk. I’m parched.” Gideon says. He hopes he didn’t sound like he was going to budge on his offer.

“Fine.” The barmaid says, not unkindly. She gives him a piece of crusty bread and two cups of milk that are only a bit dirty though the beverage itself is fresh.

Gideon does his best to eat and drink slowly, which proves to be a monumental task. If he had adequate money and resources he would have considered himself quite the foodie. “By the way,” He adds, putting on his best smolder, “Did you know I’m a wandering king?”

The barmaid does not look impressed as she brushes past him to serve a small band of dwarves at a table across the room. Gideon takes the rest of his milk like a shot.

\---

The performance does not go well. He finds himself slipping up more than usual, and his voice cracks despite having done extensive vocal warmups which bothered most every inhabitant of the pub. All the same his pockets clink with freshly earned coin as he wanders down the steps and into the city. Rather, he falls down the steps and into the middle of the city streets with his violin bow  _ sticking half out of his eye.  _ Gideon screeches, drawing several concerned looks in his direction as the bow clatters to the ground. His eye begins to swell and bleed. He puts his violin away despite this, taking extra care not to get anything scuffed or filthy. He clamps a hand over his eye and begins to walk in a random direction, hoping to find a healer. He stops another human, a young mother with a child in a carriage, asking her for directions and hoping she isn’t too freaked out by his injury. He is not looking forward to explaining to anybody how he acquired such a gruesome mark, so he begins to formulate in his head an extensive story to accompany his lie to the barmaid about being royalty. The woman looks disturbs but points him down a less-crowded street with a few stalls and a squat building which he takes to be what he’s looking for. He thanks her and staggers, light-headed, for the door. A little bell chimes above his head as he enters the premises. The main threshold is a small waiting room with creaky wooden chairs, one of which is inhabited by a massive lizardfolk male clutching a bruised or sprained wrist. Gideon thinks he is quite handsome. 

The lizard is not a talker. Thankfully, Gideon is. While they wait, he rambles about his eye injury and his fantastical tale spun around it. The lizard is impassive. Occasionally he’ll grunt in acknowledgement, but mostly he sits there with his arms crossed. His seat looks like it’s bound to break under him in all his muscular, seven foot glory. Eventually the patient before him leaves and he is called in. Gideon watches his backside as he ducks into the back room. He hears a roar of pain muffled behind the door and some hasty apologies before the lizard emerges with his arm in a sling. Gideon winks at him as he is called back. He barely listens as the healer tells him that no, he won’t go blind like he’d been panicking about pre-lizardfolk, and yes, he was going to have to wear a patch, and that he should be putting a poultice on it before bed each night (he has to shove the vial into Gideon’s hand as he stares dreamily into the distance). Gideon thanks him hastily with one thought on his mind. He’s going to find that lizard. He’s not sure why he wants to so badly as he stumbles out into the sunny afternoon, momentarily blinded. He does find him attractive but for now that’s only an arbitrary thing. He has to form an allyship with him. 

The lizard is not hard to spot. He towers well above the crowd of humanoids, cutting a wide swath in the usual marketplace hustle and bustle. Gideon nearly trips and falls several times with his newly impacted depth perception, but he manages somehow to dart through the crowd and just barely keep pace with the beast. He doesn’t seem to notice the little malnourished human bobbing at his elbow till the healer is yelling in one direction and Gideon is waving desperately for his attention. “What?” The lizard growls.

Gideon opens his mouth and no words come out. He has no idea  _ what.  _ But the healer is still yelling his name --  _ He gave him his name?  _ \-- and the vision in his right eye is going too. He’s going down, possibly hard, before the healer reaches them. He thinks the lizard may have stopped him from falling but now he’s not in the marketplace at all, he’s nowhere, and there’s a voice whispering in his ear that he’s pretty sure is fate and she’s telling him that the world is about to change. He feels a warm breeze blowing him gently towards a large, solid, protective presence. And he knows its name. The lizard, Qes.

Gideon startles awake propped against a tree. Qes is with him, chopping wood with frightening ease for only having one arm available. He passes back out and doesn’t return to consciousness till the sun is setting. Qes towers above him, his clawed hand outstretched. Gideon stares at it, not realizing he wants him to take it for a longer period of time than he would have liked to admit. He takes it and it’s warm and rough-scaled. Strong, working hands. “What happened?” Gideon asks.

Qes does not seem to like talking, as it takes a long pause for him to say, “You forgot to pay. I paid.”

“I -- Oh, thank you,” Gideon says, and then his heart misses a beat as he realizes that a familiar weight is missing from his back. “My violin! Where is it?”

Qes points a claw at where it’s laying under the tree where Gideon had been propped up, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Qes. I am indebted.”

He watches the lizard freeze. “You know my name, how?”

“I… don’t know,” Gideon confesses. “It just came to me. When I was out. There was this voice and… You know, never mind. It’s too weird.”

Qes shrugs and finishes his chopping. He sits on his haunches in the grass next to Gideon until a woman comes out of the house on the acre they're residing on and wordlessly gives him a sack of money. Gideon stares.

“Job,” Qes answers, noting his curiosity.

Gideon does not question further. Qes sounds like he hasn’t spoken in years and isn’t eager to. He’s curious why but does not press. He waits till Qes finishes counting his earnings before he gives Qes his other query. “Would you perhaps like to help me?” He asks.

Qes looks up at him, head cocked.

“I may not look it, but I am a wandering king. My domain is further to the west, but for now I am looking for a sword. The hilt is encrusted with rubies. I believe it may help me, though I am not sure why yet.” The words are flowing from his mouth faster than he can think, rich falsitudes that Qes seems to believe in. He may finally be able to get off the streets. And Qes has money.

Qes ponders, then nods. He points to himself. “Bodyguard.”

Gideon nearly chokes on saliva. “Thank you. I am afraid I cannot pay you till we get to my kingdom, but it will be generous, I promise.” He can feel his accent morphing into something much more posh than it is and he’s genuinely impressed with himself for a moment. Now if he can just keep this up.

**Author's Note:**

> Qes is pronounced Kez


End file.
